


the language of Surrender

by Oaklin



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: (also Cody and Brandi), (heh), (i am not the only one that noticed the trend though surely), (is there a wrestler involved in this whole mess that Cody wouldn't get a boner for?), (the answer is no people), (the symbolic power of fucking hand towels is so goddamn ridiculous), Golden Lovers, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Stupid Wrestle Boys And Their Stupid Drama Llamas, Swearing, The Most Vain Married Couple In Wrestling, The Young Bucks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: The intricacies of yielding to the beat of one's heart are a complicated business.





	the language of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is a play on the phrase 'the language of flowers'. I just didn't want to title this 'the language of towels' because anytime I thought of that particular iteration of the title, I would get all these weird mental images of Towelie(sp?) from South Park, and then I would want to make like ten million stoner jokes in the fic. Which wouldn't make any sense, given that Kenny is a straight *snerk* and narrow kinda guy (besides the whole cough syrup incident) and while Kota is a lush, I'm not sure if he's a pothead as well, so yeah. The stoner jokes would have amused me, but they would have been completely out of place.
> 
> It's been a LONG week, as you can tell.

The harsh sounds of violence contrast sharply with the silken texture of the fabric between his fingers. He stalks to the ring with a fittingly noble purpose, ready to throw the curtain back on this charade once and for all.

It _is_ a charade. It **has** to be.

**_(it has to be)_ **

He has never been more sure of anything in his life, never been more prepared. He just wants to show everyone, here and now, what that broken, bitter shell of a man can (and **will** ) forever be.

A shattered, lifeless husk like Kenny Omega has no business in that ring, in this match. No matter how bright Kenny’s light shines, no matter how righteous his goals are, no matter how his eyes hollow when he accomplishes what should and would be anyone else’s most treasured dreams...

Kenny Omega wouldn’t appreciate the clear, clean air at the top of the mountain anyway.

He lost himself, to the weakness poisoning his blood in the space between his heartbeats, many years ago.

So Cody charges down the ramp to the ring, eyes focused on the explosion of sweat soaked golden light in the center of the arena, ready to put an end to all of this once and for all. This never should have happened, it can’t end this way, and Cody is ready to show everyone exactly why their fearless leader is not the man he says he is.

 _Can’t_ be the man he says he is.

 **Shouldn’t** be the man that sets the world on fire the way he is **_right now._ **

It’s just Okada’s talent that is the spectacle here. After all, who could look away from such a magnificent beast?

Neither of them even seem to notice him, as he quarrells with Kenny’s cheer squad. The rest of the goons seem to notice at least, and they slowly trail down the ramp, arguing for him or against him, Cody is not sure. He can barely take his eyes off of the desperate, clawing fervor that carries on in the ring, like Kenny and Okada are the only people in this whole goddamn world that matter.

It _can’t_ be him.

It can **never** be him.

It should be **_him._ **

* * *

It’s all bitterness and hateful spite, like so many other things in his life these days. He has always wanted things that he has no business wanting, and this is no different. The sharp look of betrayal on Brandi’s face is just as priceless as the way Cody flops to the mat with a sharp thud.

Kenny really can’t suppress a cringe at that. He knows first hand what those fucking things feel like.

She’s yelling at him, and the crowd is oohing dramatically, like they are witnessing a particularly raunchy episode of Jerry Springer. He can’t help the cruel little smile that curls at his lips as Brandi refuses to yield even the slightest bit of ground, her face twisted in fury as she shouts at him. She bites out something jagged that Kenny can’t hear over the sound of his own smug self righteousness, then turns her back on him and starts shrieking for her man to get up, to fight, all the while her voice cracking, eyes desperate and fearful.

Not like it matters. Whether she throws the towel in for him, or Cody goes down to another vicious rainmaker -to the triumphant roar of the crowd- they all know how this particular bout ends. How it can only end. Cody doesn’t have what it takes to put Okada away. Not even close.

It’s all completely irrelevant, since Cody won’t be what anyone remembers about this night, or this tour.

Kenny kind of wishes that low rent drama was all he would be able to remember in the morning.

He does manage to feel bad, when his boys come out and plead with him for mercy. He contemplates going back, walking this whole stunt back, if only for their sakes if not his own, and certainly not for Cody or Brandi’s benefit. Still, he has come this far, no use turning back now. He does try kindness, putting a hand on her shoulder as she seethes vehemently at him, glancing out of the corner of his eye as Okada stalks towards the ropes, eyes trained on Kenny.

Trying to tone down his own sense of self importance, if only to talk Brandi into sparing her husband this indignity, Kenny thrusts the little white lie into Brandi’s shaking hands, grinding his teeth and fighting through the soft voice in the back of his skull, telling him that this is not going to solve anything.

Which Kenny is _aware_ of. He doesn’t need a beautiful lilt from a bygone era, telling him that this course of action is nothing but an ill-fated attempt at prolonging a petty squabble, that just so happens to be a sanity saving distraction. He also doesn’t need to be told that there is no way that this will end with anything other than two very pissed off Rhodes’, and an uneasy tension with Matt and Nick.

They’ll come around, and Cody will get over himself eventually.

This isn’t about any of them, and the sooner everyone figures that out, the better.

Okada gets it, because of course he does.

At least **_someone_ ** responds to Kenny’s verbose, melodramatic declarations.

Not that now is the time to be thinking about _that._ Especially considering the way just that thought makes his heart sting against his ribs, so much so that he has to forcibly redirect his attention back to the task at hand.

(so maybe it’s not saving his sanity)

Still. Okada probably gets so many sappy love letters that he could start his own stationary store, and yet he still has time to stop, in the middle of a match so far beneath his skill level that it is comical, to lock eyes with his most heated rival. Kenny smirks, all teeth and menace, happy beyond all reason that he can still catch the swaggering Prince’s attention. Something cold and hollow rattles around inside his chest, a thrill going through him as they square up.

 **This** at least, makes him feel **_something._ **

He feels alive standing here, Okada’s calculating gaze trained on him like they are the only two who matter in this sinful, wretched earth.

Which is fucking **true.** The two best wrestlers alive on the planet, staring each other down, the only real challenge left for each other.

Okada is going to win this and Kenny…

...will figure something out. At some point.

*hopefully*

Someday, this will all stop feeling like a slow, agonizing twenty count after a tour so long that they’ve all lost their respective minds to the tune of flesh hitting the canvas.

* * *

Kota’s hand sticks to Kenny’s drenched shoulder, the instant their skin touches almost making Kota regret coming back here. He can’t regret it though, not really. Not when Kenny looks at him Like That, like his whole world has narrowed down to just the two of them, Kenny’s eyes focusing on him with a desperate engrossment that punches the air straight out of Kota’s lungs.

Kota knows it can’t last, knew that before he came here to meet this man. Still, he has to try. This means too much.

This means **_everything_ **.

So...

_(please)_

Don’t do this.

But Kenny’s shuddering breath and trembling lips brokenly whisper ‘ _I can’t’_ without words, pulling himself up and out of Kota’s gravitational pull slowly, with visible effort. Kota wants to hold him close, pull him back in and never let him leave again, but that is not the point of this, and that is not how this can ever be. Kota doesn’t think that he is brave enough for that, for one, and also Kenny looks so abjectly miserable that Kota supposes it might do more harm than good, regardless of how much they both crave each other’s touch.

There is nothing to say, nothing to do, as Kenny pulls back and away. Kota almost flinches, when Kenny lands a painfully gentle pat on his shoulder, the motion shaky and hesitant. Kota wants to reach back, grasp at that retreating hand, but he can’t bring himself to make that leap, the rejection too tender and fresh. Kenny’s fingers linger for a breath, like he is loath to let go and move away, and Kota bites down on an angry, frustrated rebuke.

If Kenny wants to-

Then why doesn’t he just-

Kota is literally right fucking here, offering-!

The towel lands on the floor by Kota’s feet as Kenny makes his escape, the Young Bucks following him, Matt giving Kota a glare that he can hardly focus on. Kota’s eyes water, his chest aching as he refuses to watch Kenny walk away from him again.

Not this time, _please._

Kota can’t help himself though, he always did have a bit of a masochistic streak. He turns, clasping his trembling fingers around the coarse fabric, pulling Kenny’s desperate forfeit up off the floor, before looking up to catch one last glimpse of his soulmate’s retreating back.

**Author's Note:**

> Goddamn symbolism all the way down dawg. Aaaaaall the way down. Yes, if it wasn't obvious, Cody is talking about like fourteen different things at the beginning. Most of which he isn't even consciously aware of the fact that he is alluding to. Precious little unreliable narrator. Kenny is talking about- well. I really, really don't need to tell you what he spends his bits thinking and internally monologuing about. It is the exact same thing that he spent ALL of his time talking and thinking about before Sapporo. Not that that has changed any, even after his angel returned to him.
> 
> So, some things to remember about this. Cody is, and will remain for the foreseeable future, a hot fucking dumpster fire mess (for now, it seems. perhaps redemption in this anime story about love and friendship? *love you Cody, you repugnant shitbag*), Kota is a flaky airhead with bad taste in men and a self destructive streak shaped like a Dumbass Curly Blond Canadian, and Kenny has more self esteem issues than the cast of a daytime soap opera.
> 
> Isn't wrestling grand ^.^
> 
> (at some point I might follow up with the real conclusion to this, which is the Okada/Omega 4 Dominion match, obviously. I dunno how much free time I'm going to be operating on in the next few weeks, so no promises)


End file.
